My Early Photography Years...
As a child, cameras were a rarity and a luxury that few families could afford. Typically, there was just one camera per family. I vividly remember using a Box Brownie, a simple yet iconic camera of its time. The excitement of taking photos and waiting to see the results was unmatched. Most of the photos we saw back then captured familiar faces—family and friends at gatherings or snapshots from holidays around Australia. I don’t recall ever seeing photographs taken overseas, as travel outside the country was uncommon.
Once the photos were developed, the favourites would be carefully arranged in albums, becoming cherished family keepsakes. The rest remained tucked away in their original packets, often ending up in shoeboxes that were eventually forgotten or lost. These shoeboxes, filled with undeveloped memories, held a quiet charm of their own.
My parents were close to the Macelveen family, whose children had long since grown up and moved away. The father, Alan, was an exceptional figure in my early memories of photography. Alan had a deep passion for the art and was one of the few people I knew who owned a movie camera. It was a silent model, but it captured moments in colour—a rare and remarkable feature for that time.
Alan devoted countless hours to filming local events, family gatherings, and everyday life. He documented school carnivals, holidays, and other moments that might have otherwise been forgotten. His work was more than a hobby—it was an effort to preserve time itself. Watching the films Alan created was a special event, a communal experience that brought people together. It was particularly thrilling for me because I was often featured in them, reliving those moments on the big screen in vibrant colour.
Sadly, much of Alan’s comprehensive archive has been lost over the years. However, the impact of his work remains vivid in my memory. He wasn’t just a photographer or filmmaker—he was a storyteller, capturing the essence of a moment and preserving it for others to experience.
Alan’s passion for photography inspired many, including myself, and his ability to see the extraordinary in the everyday taught me to appreciate the value of capturing and cherishing life’s fleeting moments.
As I grew older, my interest in photography waned, and I found myself drawn to the world of filmmaking. At the time, I saw movies as a more immersive way to experience life—an extension of reality, where people were living and doing real things. In contrast, photography felt like a still frame, a moment frozen in time, lacking the movement and emotion I craved. I was enamoured by the narrative potential of film and its ability to transport you into another world.
My first movie camera was a Super 8. Though I can’t recall the exact make, I remember the excitement of buying the small reels of film, each one offering only three minutes of recording time. The process was laborious—once the film was used up, I had to carefully rewind it and load a new reel to continue. After filming, the real wait began. I would send the exposed film off to the developer and wait anxiously for weeks to get it back. When the films finally arrived, I would set up the projector, eagerly anticipating the moments captured on screen.
Watching the films play out on the screen was an event in itself. The anticipation was palpable as the projector whirred to life, casting flickering images on the wall. However, the process wasn’t always smooth. Occasionally, the film would jam, causing the projector to burn the film. These moments were frustrating, but they taught me valuable lessons in troubleshooting. I quickly learned how to repair and splice the film, something I felt quite clever for mastering. While the technical aspects of film were often challenging, they also deepened my appreciation for the art of filmmaking.
As technology evolved, so did my journey into the world of video. I was one of the early adopters of video recording, owning one of the first video machines to become available. There was a major debate at the time between the Beta and VHS formats. Everyone I knew recommended Beta, citing its superior quality. But I made the unconventional choice to buy a VHS machine, driven by a simple logic that the larger tape would result in better quality—though I couldn’t tell you exactly why I thought that. The price between the two formats was similar, so I followed my instinct and went for the VHS.
The VHS setup I owned was a JVC video recorder and player, and it came with a camera that connected to the recorder via a 10-pin cord. The entire setup was heavy—around 6 or 7 kilograms—but it was fully portable, making it easy to take with me to record events. The video player was similarly bulky and came with a remote, connected by cable, which was a novelty at the time. This was a far cry from the compact, easy-to-use equipment we have today, but it was cutting-edge technology back then.
I used the video camera to record numerous football matches, which provided an invaluable learning tool for the players. We would replay the footage, analysing how we played, where we went wrong, and how we could improve. The players, myself included, would scrutinise the footage, looking for patterns in our play and observing the opposition's strategies. Although I’m not sure how much it actually contributed to our performance, it was an exciting and pioneering use of technology at the time.
Over time, my relationship with cameras and film evolved. I moved from being an enthusiastic amateur to becoming more aware of the technical and artistic aspects of both photography and filmmaking. It was through this journey that I realised the immense power of visual media to capture and convey emotion, tell stories, and preserve history.
Today, as I reflect on those early years, I see how much my passion for photography and film has been shaped by the influence of people like Alan. His dedication to capturing moments, his meticulous approach to his craft, and his ability to share his knowledge with others left an indelible mark on my own journey.
At JDP Gallery, we continue to honour the legacy of those early photographers and filmmakers who paved the way for today’s digital media. Like Alan, we are committed to preserving moments in time, whether through the lens of a camera, a movie reel, or a modern-day digital device. Every photograph and film we create has a purpose: to tell a story, to capture the beauty of life in all its forms, and to inspire others to see the world through a different lens.
Alan’s influence reminds us that photography and filmmaking are not just about the tools or the technology—it’s about the stories we tell, the memories we preserve, and the connections we make through the images we create. And that, in the end, is what truly makes photography so powerful.
As I grew older, my interest in photography waned, and I found myself drawn to the world of filmmaking. At the time, I saw movies as a more immersive way to experience life—an extension of reality, where people were living and doing real things. In contrast, photography felt like a still frame, a moment frozen in time, lacking the movement and emotion I craved. I was enamoured by the narrative potential of film and its ability to transport you into another world.
My first movie camera was a Super 8. Though I can’t recall the exact make, I remember the excitement of buying the small reels of film, each one offering only three minutes of recording time. The process was laborious—once the film was used up, I had to carefully rewind it and load a new reel to continue. After filming, the real wait began. I would send the exposed film off to the developer and wait anxiously for weeks to get it back. When the films finally arrived, I would set up the projector, eagerly anticipating the moments captured on screen.
Watching the films play out on the screen was an event in itself. The anticipation was palpable as the projector whirred to life, casting flickering images on the wall. However, the process wasn’t always smooth. Occasionally, the film would jam, causing the projector to burn the film. These moments were frustrating, but they taught me valuable lessons in troubleshooting. I quickly learned how to repair and splice the film, something I felt quite clever for mastering. While the technical aspects of film were often challenging, they also deepened my appreciation for the art of filmmaking.
As technology evolved, so did my journey into the world of video. I was one of the early adopters of video recording, owning one of the first video machines to become available. There was a major debate at the time between the Beta and VHS formats. Everyone I knew recommended Beta, citing its superior quality. But I made the unconventional choice to buy a VHS machine, driven by a simple logic that the larger tape would result in better quality—though I couldn’t tell you exactly why I thought that. The price between the two formats was similar, so I followed my instinct and went for the VHS.
The VHS setup I owned was a JVC video recorder and player, and it came with a camera that connected to the recorder via a 10-pin cord. The entire setup was heavy—around 6 or 7 kilograms—but it was fully portable, making it easy to take with me to record events. The video player was similarly bulky and came with a remote, connected by cable, which was a novelty at the time. This was a far cry from the compact, easy-to-use equipment we have today, but it was cutting-edge technology back then.
I used the video camera to record numerous football matches, which provided an invaluable learning tool for the players. We would replay the footage, analysing how we played, where we went wrong, and how we could improve. The players, myself included, would scrutinise the footage, looking for patterns in our play and observing the opposition's strategies. Although I’m not sure how much it actually contributed to our performance, it was an exciting and pioneering use of technology at the time.
Over time, my relationship with cameras and film evolved. I moved from being an enthusiastic amateur to becoming more aware of the technical and artistic aspects of both photography and filmmaking. It was through this journey that I realised the immense power of visual media to capture and convey emotion, tell stories, and preserve history.
Today, as I reflect on those early years, I see how much my passion for photography and film has been shaped by the influence of people like Alan. His dedication to capturing moments, his meticulous approach to his craft, and his ability to share his knowledge with others left an indelible mark on my own journey.
At JDP Gallery, we continue to honour the legacy of those early photographers and filmmakers who paved the way for today’s digital media. Like Alan, we are committed to preserving moments in time, whether through the lens of a camera, a movie reel, or a modern-day digital device. Every photograph and film we create has a purpose: to tell a story, to capture the beauty of life in all its forms, and to inspire others to see the world through a different lens.
Alan’s influence reminds us that photography and filmmaking are not just about the tools or the technology—it’s about the stories we tell, the memories we preserve, and the connections we make through the images we create. And that, in the end, is what truly makes photography so powerful. Continued...
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